Unrest
by mswyrr
Summary: (edit) "Are we doing everything we can for him, Sandy?"
1. Prologue: Ryan POV

**Unrest**  
  
Disclaimer: They are protected by a copyright which isn't mine.  
Summary: "Are we doing everything we can for him, Sandy?"  
-  
  
Ryan doesn't have trouble falling to sleep. Bad dreams don't wake him up in the middle of the night. He just opens his eyes in the morning, and feels sick of where his mind's been. Lays watching sunlight reflections off the pool squirm on the ceiling like energy worms.  
  
The only thing that moves is his heart. It hurts, shuddering through his chest in waves. He tries to breathe slowly but it hitches. He's just glad he woke up in his bed. Sometimes he doesn't. It started when he was eleven, just after dad went away. He'd fall asleep in his room and wake up in dad's recliner.  
  
It scared him, so he kept it from his mom for a while. Then her first boyfriend moved in, the one that used to look at him weird. He went to sleep that night with a pocket knife under his pillow, and woke with the blade out in his hand, thrashing in his mom's arms.  
  
He'd been dreaming that the guy had snuck into his bed, that he was touching him. But he hadn't been there when Ryan woke, so he told his mom it was a monster off the TV. She just took the knife away, smacked him around, and had his lock replaced the next day.  
  
He never wants the Cohens to see him like that. After he started sleeping in the pool house, he worried for a while that he'd freak out and walk through the glass doors. But when he woke up in their house, standing at the stove in his boxer shorts, it was worse.  
  
He had opened two sets of doors, took out a frying pan out, and lit the stove. And he didn't know why. He hadn't been dreaming. He wasn't defending himself from an imaginary attack, or crawling into his dad's old chair. What if the pilot hadn't lit and there'd been a gas leak? What if he'd started a fire?  
  
His hands shook as turned the flame down. He put on some clothes, finished making breakfast, and later tried to convince the Cohens it wasn't safe to leave their doors unlocked at night. Seth just said, "Don't worry," and gestured at the neighborhood with an egg-roll, smiling, "_Gated Community_, man."  
  
The door to the pool house unlocked when you turned it from the inside. They would notice a chair under the handle, and Sandy had looked confused, and disappointed, the night Ryan locked their door on his way out. So he tried not to think about it, but at times like this, when he woke with the ugly shit in his head, he couldn't help thinking what he might do to them when he didn't know it.  
  
The dreams got worse the more he thought about it. He dreamed once that he'd backed Kristen against a wall like AJ used to do his mother. He'd hit her and she was crying blood. He couldn't look at her for a week without feeling sick.  
  
It would be O.K. if he knew where the line was, why he only did some stuff. If he could just be sure there were things he'd never do. He hoped it wasn't just luck that most of the time he was only pacing, standing with his back to the wall, or beating one of Kristen's down pillows.  
  
Ryan could breathe now. So he got out of bed, got clothes, got breakfast, went through his day; exhausted himself working and fell asleep early thinking about Marissa's smile at lunch. He woke up sitting on the Cohen's couch in his boxers and a tank-top, talking to Kristen.  
  
She was smiling at him fondly, surrounded by her paperwork.  
  
"Does this happen a lot, Ryan?"  
  
"Uh..," he stared at the carpet, trying to keep it together.  
  
"You _are_ awake now, right?"  
  
"What did I say?"  
  
She laughed, "Nothing embarrassing. You were telling me about building democracies in third-world countries."  
  
He looked up, frowning. Where had that come from?  
  
"Isn't that something you're learning about in school?"  
  
"Uh, no. I don't know," he stood up quickly, "Sorry."  
  
"Oh," she said dismissively, "no. It was cute." She grinned, "You were very teacherly."  
  
Ryan nodded, said goodnight, and left, feeling like a shadow hovering over their lives that they just couldn't see; like a dangerous animal at a family picnic. Sometimes he almost wishes he'd hurt himself, walk through the glass doors next time, so they could understand. So it would be over, and he wouldn't have to say anything.  
  
Ryan doesn't know why he ended up lecturing Kristen on democracy, but he's glad. He'll stuff his head full of facts if he can be sure that's all he'll ever tell her. On his way back to bed, he borrows a book from Sandy's library, and stays up the rest of the night memorizing it.  
  



	2. Episode: Kristen POV

  
  
"Hey, Mrs. Cohen?" Marissa asked, standing in the doorway, looking well kissed.  
  
"Yes?" Kristen said, hiding a smile.  
  
"Could you give me a ride home tonight?" Marissa waved her cellphone, "Dad isn't back yet."  
  
"Sure. Are you about ready?"  
  
"Yeah, I just need to grab my bag."  
  
Kristen refiled the insurance forms she'd been working on, picked up her keys, and met them out front. She started the SUV, and turned off the classic rock station she'd been listening to earlier. She watched as they swayed in each others personal space, saying goodnight.  
  
After three light kisses and many sly looks in her direction, Kristen rolled down the passenger window, "Why don't you two just hop in the back?"  
  
Ryan opened the door for Marissa and she climbed in, giggling.  
  
Kristen turned in her seat, "I need to pick up a few things from the store on the way back, okay, Ryan?"  
  
"Okay," he said, still looking at Marissa.  
  
They spent the rest of the trip holding hands, whispering to each other. When Marissa got out, Ryan followed, walking her to her door. He took the front seat when he got back.  
  
Kristen tapped the steering wheel, humming as they pulled out of the parking lot. "You both look happy."  
  
Ryan shifted awkwardly, opened his mouth, and made a noise somewhere between "uhhmm," and "yeah."  
  
"It's obvious that you two care a lot about each other. That's nice to see. So many kids..." Kristen trailed off. "Um...you can turn the radio on now, if you want."  
  
It was still set to the oldies station. "You can set it on anything," Kristen said. "Well -- anything but Rap. Or hip-hop," she paused, "Or anybody singing about 'hoes."  
  
"It's okay," he said, "I like Jefferson Airplane." She could see him smirking in the passenger window.  
  
"I've finally met a teenager with taste," she said with false solemnity.  
  
"I like hip-hop, too," Ryan said, tossing her a grin.  
  
Kristen sighed, "Just as long as I don't have to listen to it."  
  
"You know, I read somewhere that it makes kids violent."  
  
"No, it's different for everyone. Some kids aren't bothered by it."  
  
"How did you know Seth wouldn't be?"  
  
"Sandy and I took a behaviorist approach with Seth. As long as it didn't affect his personality, or his grades..."  
  
"Behaviorist?" He asked, squinting at her. "Have you read a lot of books about raising kids?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. After Seth was born, we bought almost every book we could find. Ended up throwing most of them out."  
  
"But some of them really helped you?"  
  
"Yeah, there are probably a couple left in our library. You can look through them," she glanced over at him, "if you want to scope out the parental secrets."  
  
He smiled shyly, and stared down at his hands before asking, quietly, "Is that how you be a good parent?"  
  
"I don't know," she said, seriously, "are we good parents?"  
  
He didn't say anything as they pulled into the parking lot. When they stopped, he made a point of meeting her eyes, "You raised Seth, and he's a good guy."  
  
Kristen finished parking, turned off the engine. She gave him a searching look, but stared out the windshield as she spoke, "I've started to think... that maybe what kind of person a kid becomes has more to do with who they are, than anybody else."  
  
They sat in silence for a minute. "I'll be right back," Kristen said, grabbing her list, and getting out of the car. As she walked up to the automatic doors, Ryan jogged up beside her, "I'll, um, push the cart, or something."  
  
"Oh, no," she said, waving her list, "If you come in, you're going to have have to run and get stuff from the far aisles."  
  
As they stepped inside he took a quick look around, "It's a pretty small store."  
  
"Well, we've got twenty minutes and," Kristen consulted her list, "12 items between us." She started to tear the list, "Want half?"  
  
"Nah. Can I have a look?" He took the list, scanned his eyes over it, and handed it back, "I'll take the top six."  
  
"You'll remember?"  
  
Ryan shot her one of his sideways looks, and started off down the aisle.  
  
-  
  
When they got up to the checkout counter, Kristen asked Ryan to go back for chips and salsa. As she watched the clerk ring up her groceries, two people stepped through the automatic doors wearing blue-jeans, black shirts, and ski-masks. They held absurdly small guns, and the woman's tennis shoes squeaked as she lead the store manager back into his office.  
  
Kristen placed her hands on the counter, and winced when the gunman pushed the clerk into the cash register for fumbling her keys. He stuffed the money in his pocket when she finally got it open. Kristen wondered, as she watched the clerk cry brokenly, why he hadn't thought to bring a sack.  
  
He stepped away, but kept his gun trained on them loosely. They waited. The gunman paced. It had just begun to get monotonous when he caught sight of Ryan at the end of aisle five.  
  
He stepped over to get a better look, "Hey, kid!" he motioned with the palm-sized gun, "Get up here."  
  
Ryan walked slowly down the aisle carrying his chips and salsa. He didn't look up.  
  
"Look, fuckwit. Drop the shit, and get up here," the gunman said, training his gun on Ryan.  
  
Ryan tilted his head, looking at the gun blankly. His walk slowed.  
  
The gunman's finger twitched near the trigger.  
  
"Ry-an!" Kristen yelled warningly.  
  
The gunman glanced between them, and aimed the gun at Kristen, "Move."  
  
The salsa jar cracked wetly when it hit the floor. Ryan didn't flinch when the gunman grabbed him at the end of the aisle and pushed him into the magazine rack. The man kept his gun on Kristen, and his left hand at the base of Ryan's skull.  
  
After a minute, the gunman's partner came out with the manager and several blue money bags. Her shoes still squeaked. The thieves nodded to each other, cautiously released their prisoners, and strolled out.  
  
Kristen came out of her daze. She grabbed her credit card off the counter, and came around to where Ryan stood, staring sightlessly at the magazines. His whole body was tensed up, and she could hear him panting a little as he breathed. "We're leaving," she said quietly, glancing at the manager, who was calling the police.  
  
Ryan started at the sound of her voice, and nodded, not looking at her as they exited the store. Kristen was driving when it caught up to her. The tightness in her chest intensified to tears as she pulled over. She watched the streetlight change from blurry red to green. A small box of tissues came into her line of sight, and she took one.   
  
When Kristen looked up she could see Ryan in the light of the open glovebox. He put the tissues back, and stared into it expressionlessly. It was the same look he had given that man's gun. It chilled Kristen.  
  
"What were you thinking?"  
  
He looked up, a challenge in his eyes, "What was there to think about?"  
  
She ignored his unsettling tone, "That man was going to shoot you." He kept staring at her, unaffected. "He could have _killed_ you, Ryan," she blurted, on the edge of tears again.  
  
"So?"  
  
"Don't say that!" she snapped. "You don't get to act like this doesn't matter." Kristen took moment to breathe. Gentling her tone, she said, "You're worth so much to us, Ryan..."  
  
"Insurance would cover that," he said, lips twitching wryly.  
  
Kristen reeled back, aghast. "My God, Ryan -- what is this? What is _wrong_ with you?"  
  
"Nothing," Ryan said, reaching for the door handle, "I guess I'll walk."  
  
  



	3. Episode Tag: Ryan POV

  
  
  
Kristen is standing by the pool when Ryan gets back. She looks tired. Ryan doesn't know why she bothers. Why she's standing in the cold waiting for a kid who took everything she gave, and threw it back in her face.  
  
Ryan is going to apologize, and let her say whatever she needs to say. Because he is sorry. He's sorry for the stressed look on her face, and for what he said. So he'll apologize because of that, and because he knows he'll be a lot more sorry if she ever starts to wonder why she bothers, too.  
  
Ryan steps over to the side of the pool. Kristen looks up, and they both just stare. She starts to speak once or twice. Reconsiders.  
  
"We do care about you," she says finally. "You're not just another investment. And there's no money that could restore the... gap there would be in our family, if you left." She sounds like she means it, but all the emotion is sort of drained out of her voice.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know," Ryan says. He tries to put the rest of the apology across silently, because he really just doesn't know what the fuck to say here. Kristen probably wants to hear an explanation, too, so he says, "It was just what happened in the store. It screwed with my head."  
  
"Okay," she says, and watches him for a while like he's some big mystery.  
  
"It's, uh, cold. You should probably go inside."  
  
"We're on the beach in Southern California." She doesn't have the energy to make it ironic, so it just sounds a little dumb. Anyway, she's been rubbing her arms to warm up as she spoke.  
  
"It's still cold." If it were Dawn, he'd give her his coat. But he's seen Kristen watching way too many old movies where that's all romantic, and now it really creeps him out.  
  
"Alright," she says, heading for the door. "You'll talk to Sandy when he gets home?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay," she says, giving him another concerned look, before going inside.  
  



	4. Epilogue: Kristen POV

  
  
Three days later, Kristen had just stood up from her desk, when she saw Ryan in the doorway. She closed her laptop, and padded over. He was swaying on his feet, fast asleep. Kristen guided him to the living room couch, reminding herself to pick up a couple books on parasomnia.  
  
"Have a seat, Ryan," Kristen said, fetching a pillow and blanket from the cabinet she'd asked Rosa to keep them in. She put the blanket over his shoulders, and guided his head onto the pillow. "Go back to sleep," she said, giving his hair a quick ruffle, and regretted that she hadn't met him when he was still a kid.  
  
Once his eyes closed, and Kristen was sure he wouldn't be wandering around anymore tonight, she shut off her office light, and headed back to bed. Looked in on Seth, who was a content lump under the blankets at this hour, and found Sandy blearily reading legal papers in bed. She smiled to herself as she got under the covers. Sometimes she felt a little like Wendy, taking care of the Lost Boys.  
  
Unfortunately, singing and telling stories wouldn't magically fix her boys problems. She resolved to get those parasomnia books tomorrow. Several to read, and just the right one to give Ryan. She'd seen the terrified look on his face, the first time she found him sleepwalking. She hoped that, with a little information, he could make peace with it.  
  
Kristen felt a little overwhelmed when she imagined all the other things Ryan might not be at peace with. She looked at her husband, and wondered how he'd become the man she knew. She hoped Ryan could grow up to find the contentment she saw in Sandy.  
  
"Sandy?" she asked, reaching for his hand.  
  
"Hmm?" he said, grasping her hand, and giving her his full attention.  
  
"Are we doing everything we can for him?"  
  
Sandy's eyes took on that special twinkle he reserved for moments when he felt Kristen was living up to her full human potential, and he smiled his sexy triumphant smile.  
  
"Honey," he said, giving her hand a light squeeze, "if you care enough to ask the question, then the answer is yes."  
  
Kristen considered that a moment, and felt relieved. She smiled back at him, and setting his paperwork aside, crawled over to give him a kiss. She loved how easily he could make everything sound hopeful and good.  
  
-end-  
  



End file.
